


A Twentieth Century Fairytale

by piggywrites



Series: A Twentieth Century Fairytale [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1950s, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gambling, Historical Hetalia, Nations As Public Figures, Nationverse, Period-Typical Sexism, Tags May Change, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-15 18:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15419043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggywrites/pseuds/piggywrites
Summary: The year is 1956 and the world is basking in the afterglow of the Wedding of the Century. With an American actress marrying the Prince of Monaco, it was only natural that America would come to meet the representative of the world's smallest country-While the encounter between he and Miss Monaco was brief, a photo taken of them at the wedding reception was enough to send people's imaginations flying.Through America's wish to pander to his people's expectations, and Monaco's will to maintain her small country's relevance in the public eye, both Nations agreed to play along. For two years, they slipped in and out of the spotlight. For two years, everybody talked about Mr. America and his little European sweetheart. For two years, they wore masks that were bound to fall off, some day...It was only a matter ofwhen.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody and welcome to _A Twentieth Century Fairytale_!! 
> 
> This... has been a journey. I've always wanted to write a fic about America and Monaco set in the 1950s- actually, I've been musing about it since 2016, if not before. And with drafts and drafts and drafts of various attempts, I never managed to get it going! Until now!  
> When the Brief History of Time APH event popped up, I knew this was my prompt to actually double down and _be fuggin productive_ \- so I joined. I joined and I worked myself to sheer frustration only to churn out the Prologue + 3 chapters that are published as of August 7th 2018 ;w;  
> It's been... a Journey™. I've struggled with writing this and deeply regret leaving out a lot of scenes I wish I could have put in this fic... so expect a collection of deleted scenes some time soon after I finish this! ;D
> 
> Before we start, I'd like you, reader, to start off with a few tidbits of info regarding this fic:  
> • I usually interpret the APH Nations as being somewhat public figures within their reality- I write Nationverse as an AU of our reality, but where these immortal Nation-beings are commonplace, known of by regular humans, though with varying levels of how they take on their role. America fully embraces his celebrity 'status', for example.  
> • **Being set in the 1950s, this fic showcases certain attitudes and behaviours typical of the time. _I do not condone any of these in real life._**  
>  • My characterisation for Monaco is a little canon-divergent... Not that we have a lot of canon to bounce off of in the first place. 
> 
> **Context:**  
>  The year is **1956** and the [Wedding of the Century](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grace_Kelly#Princess_consort) just took place. Hollywood actress Grace Kelly left her silver-screen career behind to marry Prince Rainier III of Monaco after a year of courtship under the spotlights, and now the world basks in the afterglow of this modern fairytale's _happy ending_.  
>  America and Monaco had a brief encounter at Grace and Prince Rainier's wedding reception, and while their exchange was rather neutral on both a personal and National scale... some people just can't seem to imagine that two Nations can't stand next to each other without assuming _something_ is going on. Rumours were spread, misunderstandings happened, and soon enough, both Nations found themselves caught up in it all, deciding that playing along until people would grow bored of their story was the best way to go about these things...
> 
>  **Names**  
>  America: Alfred F. Jones  
> Monaco: Angélique de la Roche  
> France: François Bonnefoy
> 
>  **A HUGE THANK YOU TO THESE LOVELY PEEPS!**  
>  Sophie, Eve, Riri, and Kanadka ♥ Thank you for your help, it was absolutely precious to me!  
> Honorable mention goes to **Blue** for putting up with me crying about writing for this pair for over a year. sobs. Bless your soul. 
> 
> Without further adieu, please enjoy the fic! It's currently incomplete but I will do my best to update it with future chapters as soon as I can! 
> 
> Love, Baguette ♥

 

 _April 19th 1956_ _  
_ _Le Rocher, Monaco._

* * *

 

It was a lovely day for a wedding.

Alfred was amused, if anything, to find himself among this crowd of aristocrats, diplomats, old money bluebloods, and the cream of the crop of Hollywood’s finest.

This was what the papers had been calling the Wedding of the Century ever since the bride and groom had been engaged- Alfred wondered _why_ , at first. _Why_ would the American media, and therefore the World, care about a royal wedding hidden within the nooks and crannies of the Mediterranean coast- in a Principality that didn’t even show up on _actual_ maps.

He realised, however, that all this was just… a nice little distraction, if anything. A _lovely_ distraction. Though he had initially hesitated about it, Alfred supposed that he deserved to indulge… It was something that would take his mind off the horrors of the world, if only for a day-  
The war in Korea had come to a halt, a revolution was brewing on the other side of the Iron Curtain, and while the Red Threat was looming... Alfred had accepted his invitation to the wedding of Ms.Grace Patricia Kelly and her beloved Monégasque Prince.

He fandangoed between tables, chairs, and fellow guests. With a friendly, open smile on his youthful features, he greeted the familiar faces he passed by all while carrying a fine porcelain plate and a piece of wedding cake.  
All these pleasantries were all well and good, but, in absolute honesty, he couldn’t help but want to find a quiet place to eat his cake- to simmer down before he’d return to socialising with other guests.  
He had seen France earlier that day at the ceremony in church- maybe he could find him and steal a cigarette or two, as he had forgotten his pack back at his hotel room...  
He swore he had picked up on the scent of the Frenchman’s Gauloise cigarettes somewhere around here-

Straightening his posture, Alfred looked above the sea of guests in an effort to find François… Though, instead, he found someone he felt he should have greeted earlier.

Miss Monaco.

She was their host, after all.

He blinked at first, watching her as she stayed at the edge of the balcony, alone, her crystal coupe of champagne settled at her side, on the stone banister- The evening breeze swayed the skirt of her blue dress and caught the pale grey ribbon of her cigarette’s smoke, whisking it away, sending it into the warm air surrounding her. She seemed to have sought solace for a moment, after having entertained guests all day… Yet, Alfred felt compelled to seek her out.

He _had_ to compliment the host.

Carrying his plate of cake with him, Alfred nonchalantly sauntered onto the balcony, leaving the crowd of 600 illustrious guests behind.  
He had spent most of the evening observing the party with an amused, boyish grin tugging at his features. Europeans were _hilarious_ , with all of their pomp and circumstance- the Prince had even used his ceremonial sword to cut the wedding cake, for Pete’s sake!

The cake was delicious, though. Classically flavoured with berries and French vanilla, with light, airy cream, frosted flowers, and sugar cherubs… It was _such_ a pretty cake- not that Alfred cared. As exciting as it was to watch the _pâtissier_ reveal his masterpiece to the bride, groom, and their guests, food was meant to be eaten.

Grinning to himself as he held the fine china plate in one hand, and a dainty little silver fork in the other, he approached the smaller Nation as she smoked alone, settling his plate on the banister next to her glass of champagne.

“You got a nice view from up here-” he quipped, nodding out to all that could be seen beyond the Palace’s balcony-

The small woman glanced to the side, her eyes meeting first with Alfred’s chest before she shifted her gaze up to his face.  
She didn’t speak at first. She nodded back, acknowledging him as she held her cigarette between two gloved fingers. She sighed, smoke pooling from her painted lips as she looked back to the view, herself. A slight smile curled her lips as she replied to him.

“It seems we do, Mr. America.”

Alfred stabbed his fork into his slice of cake, cutting himself a piece and leaning closer to the plate to unceremoniously chow down on the delicate pastry. With his mouth full, he leaned back up and went back to gazing at the view.

He just observed the way the Mediterranean breeze rustled the palm trees, the way the sea slowly crashed against the coast, coming and going harmoniously… He adjusted his glasses to watch as the people of Monaco celebrated their Prince’s wedding down the hill from where the Palace was built.  
He watched as they danced in the streets and opened bottles of champagne, waving both Monégasque and American flags to honour the new Princess… He couldn’t help but grin at that.

“Thank you- For accepting the invitation, I mean,” quipped Monaco as she tapped her cigarette over the banister, letting the ashes fall down to the gardens below.

Alfred shrugged, picking up the plate again and eating more and more of the cake, nodding to her thanks before he swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“The pleasure’s mine, Miss… uh-” he started off, squinting a little. He  _ swore  _ he had learnt her name before he came over. Apparently not. _Ah well_ , no shame in asking.    
“... You gotta excuse me for a sec, I forgot your name.  _ Miss… _ ?” 

“ _ De la Roche _ . Angélique de la Roche.” The small woman replied with a tense, pouty little smile on her red lips. She was only  _ mildly  _ offended. 

Alfred blinked at that.  _ Jeez _ , what a mouthful- He’d surely butcher her name if he even  _ tried _ . 

“...  _ Angie _ ,” he replied in a friendly tone, hoping she'd forgive him nicknaming her so soon-  “Yeah, I remember now!” 

“ _Angélique_.”

Alfred blinked at her sudden change of tone- the way Angélique almost snapped at him as she corrected the way he said her name… Ah, well. She sighed and relaxed her shoulders, crushing her cigarette in a small tin ashtray.

“My name is _Angélique_ . Then again, _Mr. America_ , I was unaware that we were already on first-name terms.”

“Aw, no need to be so formal. We’re at a party, ain’t we?” Alfred teased her, trying to lighten the mood.

Angélique glanced back up at him, picking up her glass of champagne as she looked him over and gave a light shrug, her free hand going up to adjust her pearls around her neck.

“Yes, well…”

“It’s a nice distraction,” Alfred added decisively, jabbing his fork into another piece of cake as he turned around to face the opening that led to the hall where all the guests were. “This ain’t usually my kinda scene- with all the aristocrats and whatnot. But… It’s fun,” he grinned, “I got enough troubles to tend to back at home. _Actual_ Nation duties.”

“... _Actual Nation_ , you say?”

Alfred nodded at that, the possibility of her being offended by his words entirely flying over his daft head.

“Yeah, like me. Like, uh, France,” he said, gesturing to the crowd, as though the Frenchman was obviously among them.

“And what of _me_ , Mr. America?” mused the small woman, taking a sip of champagne before she pushed up her glasses. She stared him down, her eyes cold for a just a second-

“... Uh.” Alfred stared back at her for a second, letting out a chuckle as he gestured to the view behind her. “You got a nice lil’ country. _Honest_. But it’s… Y’know, three banks and a casino. Less than a square mile-” he told her, shoving a forkful of cake into his face-hole once more. As he chewed, he glanced down at her to gauge her reaction. He meant no harm, really.

He was just saying things as they were.

The small woman simply looked up to him with a tense, falsely placid expression on her face. She smiled and drank more of her bubbly golden drink, quickly looking away from the preposterous American before her.

“I _see_.”

“And y’know, I wouldn’t’ve missed Grace Kelly’s _big day_ for anything. I’m a big fan of her work.” Alfred announced proudly, a boyish grin spreading across his features.

“Miss Kelly is… Talented, I’ll admit.” Angélique replied, looking back inside, peering over the shoulder of one of the guests to catch a glimpse at the American bride’s lovely face as she spoke to her husband. “... I can only hope she’ll be a good wife to Rainier.”

“You two kinda look alike, too.”

Angélique blinked at that, quickly glancing back up to Alfred as though he had just said something incredibly outlandish.

“ _Pardon_?”

Alfred finished his cake as the smaller Nation whipped around. All he could do was stare at her face and then seem deep in thought. Upon swallowing, he nodded, vaguely gesturing to his own face.

“You got that timeless kinda look. And you’re blonde. Maybe if you had shorter hair and weren’t as small as you are, you’d pass off as twins.”

Angélique scoffed at that.

“One _shouldn’t_ comment on a lady’s height, Mr. America.”

Alfred let out a snort, then a chuckle. Miss Monaco sure was something- So haughty, so fussy!

It was _endearing_ , when he thought of it.  
_Look at her_ , with her little coat-of-arms brooch over her heart and the little silk shawl covering her shoulders; those strict little glasses and those painted red lips... She was what he thought a woman was expected to be- _cute_.

Alfred thought she was cute.

Alfred shook his head and shrugged, grinning as he leaned his elbow on the stone banister. He cocked his head to the side and settled his plate back down, ready to relax before he heard the gentle hum of the band’s clarinet.  
He immediately perked back up when the band followed with a familiar, smooth tune- one he recognized. One he enjoyed.

Almost immediately, he straightened himself and plucked the crystal glass from Miss Monaco’s dainty little fingers, settling it next to his empty plate before he swiftly grasped her hand and pulled her away from the banister, moving with her and twirling her around.

“How ‘bout a dance?” he suggested in an effort to lighten the mood. “You’ve been stiff since I got here- ain’t this s’posed to be a party?”

Angélique blinked at that, then looked up to the younger Nation while still allowing him to hold her hand. She raised a brow at him, pouting, as though she was about to decline his offer-

“You insult me in my own home, on the day of my Prince’s wedding, and you ask me for a dance, Mr. America?”

“Wh- Hah, I didn’t mean to insult you, Ma’am. _Miss_ ,” he defended himself, daring to place a hand on her upper waist. “But you _gotta_ admit what I just did was kinda smooth, don’t you think?”

With that, Angélique looked him over again, using her free hand to push up her glasses before Alfred vaguely moved along to the music, trying to encourage her to loosen up.

After a moment of thought, she returned to his hold, deciding to indulge her guest rather than give him the cold shoulder... With one hand in his own, the other placed on his upper arm, she glanced up at him and shook her head, her red lips pressed into a pout as she warned him.

“Someone could see us.”

“Uh, I guess they could,” Alfred replied with a shrug. Without much else as a step forward, he grinned and led the dance… and Angélique followed.

They swayed along to the music- An upbeat, surprisingly harmonious foxtrot sweeping them away as they made the balcony their personal dancefloor. For a moment, it was only them, the muted chorus of the band, the gentle whisper of the waves crashing against the coastline in the distance, and the evening breeze swaying the blue skirts of Angélique’s dress.  
Alfred grinned, watching  her unwind a little, _just a little_ , with each step and each turn they took-

“You’re a better dancer than I expected, Mr. America.”

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to do foxtrot,” he teased in return, twirling around with her once more as the music died down.  

As soon as it did, the small woman stepped away from her guest, straightening her dress and adjusting her pearl necklace, then her glasses, then her gloves.  
Alfred grinned. She took herself so seriously...

This was just a little fairytale wedding for Americans to gush over for a week or two. It wasn’t _important_ . It was a _distraction_.

“Thanks for the dance,” Alfred mused, tipping his metaphorical hat, “this has been swell ‘n all, but I got my _actual_ duties as a Nation to take care of! Thanks for the invitation, compliments to the chef-”

As he spoke, he moved one of his hands, gesturing mindlessly to emphasize his words- He watched as Angélique’s eyes went wide and as she quickly jerked towards the banister, close to him, crashing against his chest as his own hand tipped the porcelain plate and crystal glass over the edge, leaving them to smash into pieces in the gardens below the balcony.

Still pressed against him, Angélique stared at where the plate had fallen before she felt Alfred gently place a hand on her back. Flinching a little, she jerked away from him, a stern expression on her soft features.

“Whoops, uh-” said Alfred as he stepped back, looking the small woman over before he shrugged and offered her a sheepish grin. “Let’s stay in touch.”

With that, he slipped back into the hall, off to say his goodbyes and leave the place. He had wasted enough time there, as _lovely_ as it had all been.

At the end of the day, this whole affair was just a nice little distraction. An escape. A fantasy. A fairytale-

That's right.

It was all just a fairytale. 


	2. Chapter 1 • Rumor has it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter 1! I'll apologise if the pacing is a little wonky- Goodness, I've worked this chapter over and over and o v e r ;^;  
> Getting the main plot element off the rails was the hardest part to work with but... Yep, it's done now!
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it! o/ 
> 
> _Bonus drinking game:_ While reading this fic, take a shot every time a character smokes ♥ lmao

While Miss Kelly and Prince Rainier had their happy fairytale ending, the press decided they weren’t quite yet satisfied with how short-lived the fantasy had been. The people wanted more, more, _more_ \- And for some reason, Alfred wasn't exactly sure how exactly he had gotten roped up into celebrity gossip, himself.

For some reason, photos of Grace Kelly’s wedding reception had leaked and magazines had propped up this new fantasy for people to gush about and adore… Quick snapshots of Alfred’s brief encounter with Miss Monaco had been published, and while they did nothing but vaguely stand close to each other, the public’s imagination went _wild_.

Alfred did nothing about it. He thought gossip was nothing but old housewives’ pastimes, trite, inconsequential articles in magazines no one cared about… Until one of the White House employees mustered up the courage to ask him about the whole ordeal.

“We heard you and a fellow Nation were _dating_ , Mr. America,” simpered one of the girls who worked at the archives. She had an odd shine in her eyes when she dared to bring it up, and Alfred wasn’t sure how to react to it.

“Where’d you read that?” he asked her with a chuckle, “You have a job in the White House archives and you ask me about hair salon gossip rags-”

“Oh _no_ , Sir, I wouldn’t do that!” she gasped before she held up an edition of the New York Times, opening it to a page with an article she had circled in red “See here?”

Squinting, Alfred read the article over and over. It seemed the story had been taken on by what he considered to be _actual_ newspapers… And, in a pile of foreign magazines and newspaper clippings the girls in the newsroom had put aside, there was far more than what he could even begin to fathom.

Still, he believed this would all blow over. People would surely get bored of this story… Right?

“So?” the girl asked, peering over Mr. America’s shoulder while he thumbed through the clippings, “Are you and Miss Monaco a thing?”

“What? No-” Alfred laughed, fumbling with the papers before he slammed the file shut. This… Was unexpected, if anything. He’d have to see the guys in PR if they could do something about it- “Nah, It’s not _really_ a thing. Besides, she ain't my type. You know what old money broads are like,” he teased, winking at the girl. She smiled at him. He smiled back. If he had been human, he might’ve made a proper move on her-

There was no time for that.

Setting the file aside, he got up and left the newsroom, offering a wave to the little darling who helped him see the light of it all. He couldn’t allow himself to focus on some dumb rumor involving a Nation whose territory didn’t even show up on an actual map-

He had actual duties as a Nation to tend to. He didn’t have to think about Monaco anymore, did he? As irrelevant as she was on the international scene, he’d be surprised if he even saw her again-

Oh how _wrong_ he was.

Miss Monaco just so happened to be in Paris at the same social event he had been invited to. It was just for a night before he was to pay a visit to Germany back in Bonn. To keep an eye on him, and on the Reds right across the border. His actual duties as the representative of the American Nation.

In any case, before Bonn, there was Paris, and in Paris, for some reason, there was the woman the world was _convinced_ he was involved with.

He found her walking down one of the corridors that led to the venue and jogged to her side, following after her as he knew the conversation that would follow would require some amount of privacy-

“Miss… _Monaco_! Good evening!” he greeted her enthusiastically. He offered a broad grin, keeping up the golden boy appearances despite the fact that he was desperate to address the elephant in the room.

The small woman turned to look up at the man who has followed after her, pouting when she recognised the American. She looked over him a little condescendingly and tugged at her silk shawl before she spoke to him.

“Did you forget my name again, Monsieur Jones?”

Alfred shook his head.

“‘Course not. I _know_ your name’s _Angie_ and all. I just didn’t want you to snap at me like you did last time.”

“ _Angélique_ , Monsieur Jones, my name is Angélique. If it’s really such a pain, call me Monaco.”

The younger Nation grinned and shrugged at that, holding his hands up.

“Alright, alright, whatever you say, honey. Listen-” he chuckled and looked over his shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck before he spoke again, “I’m gonna get to the point. There’s been rumors about us goin’ around.”

“I’m aware. I read the papers,” Angélique retorted. “It has stirred quite the controversy in my home. My people already need to stomach having an American as their Princess-”

“What’s wrong about being American?”

Alfred raised a brow at her, suddenly feeling a little defensive. He stepped closer, looking down on her as he silently demanded an answer.

Angélique seemed a little startled at first, staring back at him before she cleared her throat and stepped aside, knowing better than to dignify the rowdy boy with a reaction.

“What I _mean_ is, we don’t have a lot of solutions we can choose from. Relationships between Nations being a tricky subject as is, and with most of us keeping such relationships, when they occur, a secret-”

“Y’didn’t answer my question, _Monaco._ Don’t try to change the subject. I _asked_ you-”

“ _Monsieur Jones_.” She snapped at him, standing straight, poised, hands held together. With a deep breath to calm her nerves, she continued. “I am not sure you understand the situation as well as you should.”

Alfred raised his brows at the small woman’s tone, glancing down the corridor behind her as he shoved his hands into his pockets, staring down a passerby until he was sure they were alone again.  
Angélique walked past him, holding onto his sleeve to drag him away from the gathering. They needed to be alone.

Then, she turned back sharply, making sure no one had followed them. Alfred looked around in confusion and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking down onto Angélique as he waited for her to explain.

“Is the idea of me being seen as your partner that insufferable to you?” she asked him, pushing up her glasses.

“Wh-” Alfred laughed, shaking his head. “Naw, no! You’re not _ugly_ or something… If that’s what you meant.”

“It’s not what I meant-”

“Well you- uh.” He looked down on her again, then gestured to his own face “You are attractive, I ain’t denying that. ”

The smaller Nation looked up to him dully, a pout on her red lips before she spoke.

“I’m flattered, really. I reiterate my question; are these rumours inconveniencing you?”

Alfred blinked at that, then shrugged. “I’m just concerned everybody’s obsessed with ‘em. I dunno where they got their ideas! You remember it as well as I do, right? We just _talked_ and danced for _one_ song! A few weeks ago nobody would’ve imagined… this,” he told her gesturing between them.

“And since everybody believes what the papers say-”

“Well it’s gotten to the point where people stop me to express how happy they are. And I can’t tell them it ain’t true ‘cause- y’know, they’re _into it_ ,” he told her, leaning closer as he glanced behind him. Then, he blinked, looking back to her, hoping he didn’t offend her delicate, feminine sensitivities-  “...This ain’t against you.”

“I’m aware.”

“Yeah, I just dunno how to deal with this.”

Angélique sighed and pulled a packet of cigarettes from her purse, plucking one out before she brought it to her lips and set it ablaze, letting her cigarette ignite before she breathed in some smoke, then breathed it out, thoughtfully looking away from him

“I have a proposition for you.”

Alfred raised a brow at Angélique’s sudden suggestion. _If she had something to offer..._

“I’m listening.”

“Not here. Not now,” she told him, looking to the side. She held a hand to her hip and pouted once again, thoughtfully, before she looked back up to him. “I’ll send you a letter.”

“Does it really gotta be a letter?”

Taking another drag from her cigarette, Angélique glanced back up to the American, looking him over once more before she sighed out her smoke and replied.

“In order for me to correctly formulate my thoughts, _without_ you interrupting me, _Monsieur Jones_ , _yes_.”

And so, Alfred waited for the letter.

Two weeks passed before he finally received the envelope. Ink-stamped over and over by the French Postal service and Air Mail, but also with a lovely little Monégasque stamp Alfred gingerly tore off to add to his collection.

He was still a boy at heart, after all.

Grabbing a knife from his kitchen, he ripped open the dainty little envelope with little to no care for the delicate cursive of Mademoiselle’s handwriting or the finely pressed wax seal that held he envelope shut.

Taking off his glasses, he squinted at the woman’s written work, deciphering each word until his eyes grew accustomed to the manner in which she scripted each letter.

 _Sheesh_ , talk about _fancy_. Couldn’t she have sent a telegram instead?

Still, he managed to read it all.

 

 

> “May 3rd 1956.  
>  Le Rocher, Monaco.
> 
>  
> 
> _Mr. Jones,_
> 
> _It has come to my attention that the Press has taken upon itself to write us off as a couple. As we have briefly discussed during our encounter in Paris last week, this is a situation that inconveniences us both, if only for the sake of our respective reputations._
> 
> _However, Mr. Jones, it must be noted that if we immediately dispel the notion of our ‘relationship’, the reactions of the public, which seems to be attached to the notion of you engaging in romantic endeavours, would be somewhat disproportionate._ _  
> _ _I am sure that, as an American who values honesty, disappointing your people and being branded as a liar would be detrimental to your image, and, by extension, to mine as well._
> 
> _My suggestion is that we pander to the public’s expectations, if only for a few months._
> 
> _Please find enclosed my conditions and proposed tactics regarding this affair._
> 
> _Best regards,_
> 
> Mademoiselle Angélique de la Roche, Principauté de Monaco
> 
>  
> 
> _PS: I would highly recommend you dispose of this letter. It would be regrettable if either of us let transpire that our involvement is a fabrication._ ”

 

Alfred read the letter once, twice, three times- then found the papers upon which Angélique had listed a set of ‘rules’ they should both follow in order to slowly let this whole story blow over-

Meetings once a month. Going on false ‘dates’ where others could witness them. They would act as a couple though she made a point of not allowing him to indulge in certain displays of affection- It was supposed to be an act. A game, of sorts.

By her logic, if they pretended to be a couple for a while, they would both receive a surge of attention… Then slowly fade into irrelevance when the Press found another bone to chew on.

He wanted to reject it, at first.

Then, thinking it over, he allowed himself to be convinced. He knew the Press well, and while he had never dealt with an affair of this very type… He had to admit that little Miss Monaco was right.

The Press would be satisfied for a month or two, and the people, themselves, would have _another_ fairytale romance to dream of. _Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier, part two._ It would make people happy, for a while. Alfred liked making people happy.

With a chuckle, he let the papers fall back to his desk and went to grab himself a bottle of Coca-Cola from the refrigerator. Then, he hesitated- once, twice… And, for the heck of it, a third time before he convinced himself that he could douse the carbonated drink with a shot of whiskey.

_Cheers, Angie._


	3. Chapter 2 • Start spreadin' the news

It was official.

Mr. America had a lovely little  _ lady-friend _ and they were the talk of the town. 

While he had consented to it, Alfred didn’t take this whole publicity stunt as seriously as  _ Angie  _ did.   
All they had to do was look the part, allow themselves to be seen together at public events, and then part ways. It was a performance- a game, of sorts. 

Alfred confirmed the rumour to a reporter who vaguely asked about Miss Kelly’s wedding in the midst of an entirely unrelated meeting. Angélique confirmed it while being interviewed for a French women’s magazine barely a few days later.    
The news was out and, soon enough, everybody knew. It almost scared Alfred how quickly it all went- one day he was the world’s most eligible bachelor, and the next he was a taken man at the center of the rats’ nest that was celebrity gossip. 

The press had to get their hands on them. They complied. They had to give the people what they wanted, after all... 

So there Alfred was, making his way through the lavish corridors of the Carlton Hotel in Cannes, of all places, quickly reading through notes that had been shoved at him to prepare for his interview alongside the other Nation. It reminded him of many other interviews he had prepped himself for in the past- After all, Alfred was no stranger to the spotlight. He basked in it. He craved it… he just wasn’t used to sharing it.

He never imagined he would. 

It would be  _ fine _ . All he needed was to straighten his posture, puff out his chest and put on his million-dollar smile. Alfred F. Jones was branded as a golden boy and he was more than content with that image. He was _ Mister America _ , after all! Adding a little lady to the picture wouldn’t do any harm to that, now would it? 

_ Crap _ . He was late- God, the haughty brat was going to be  _ furious _ . Their first interview as a ‘couple’, and he was  _ late _ -

Pushing past two elderly ladies with a polite nod and an apology, he straightened his blazer and made his way onto the terrace. The press was there- Well. It was  _ only _ a quartet of reporters and photographers, nothing like the press conferences Alfred had dealt with in DC in the past… But, he supposed that someone like Angélique didn’t need to attract the entire newsroom, now, did she? 

One of the photographers was taking a few pictures before the session start of the session. Angélique was already present, after all, so a few solo shots of her sitting pretty on the little sofa would make for nice visuals-   
Alfred stayed back for a second. He waited for the camera to click and mentally prepared himself to be scolded and chastised by Angélique before he’d make his presence known. He remembered how goddamn  _ haughty  _ she had been the only time they actually interacted- and how  _ bossy  _ she had been on the phone when they conversed in preparation for this whole thing… He could only imagine her snide nagging and her scoffing and-

“ _ Monsieur Jones _ !”

Before he could react, the small woman had bolted from the sofa, little heeled shoes pattering against the stone floors of the terrace as she rushed to hug him dearly. She only let go after hearing the click of the camera, then moving to pout and fuss at his tie like an adoring little wife. 

“ _ Mon cœur, _ look at you… Oh, I’m so  _ happy  _ you could make it! I’ve been waiting for you-” she let go of his blazer and clapped her hands together, red lips pressed into a pout before she turned to the men behind her. She offered them a lovely little smile and took Alfred’s hand, dragging him closer to the sofa where she had sat before. 

Alfred stared at her a little incredulously. This… wasn’t the same woman he had met the month before, right? She was so  _ sweet _ , so lovely- And what was with her voice? She still spoke with that elusively French… Italian…  _ Something  _ accent, but, her voice...

Her voice was girlish. Breathy. Saccharine. 

He swore he had heard a similar tone before, but  _ where…  _

In any case, there was little time for him to actually give himself a headache over it. The White House PR had encouraged him to go with the flow of it all… So he did. Grinning warmly, he made a point to shake hands with each of the four men who had gathered around the two of them today.    
Then, he sat down and draped his arm over the back of the sofa, sitting comfortably as he spoke to them. 

“I’m sorry for being late, folks. I shouldn’t’ve kept you waiting,” he apologised, pushing up his glasses quickly before he looked back to Angélique, smiling at her a little tensely.

Angélique shuffled closer, actually resting her shoulder against his side. Nestled against him, she shrugged, graciously forgiving his tardiness. After all, as long as they could get this interview over and done with, they’d be fine. It was just a formality. 

As soon as the cameras were prepped again and everyone was ready, the festivities began. 

Alfred and Angélique smiled and glanced at each other like a couple of young newlyweds. Charmingly, sweetly, and above all lovingly. Alfred dared to pull Angélique closer, kissing her forehead as a camera clicked-

The questions were basic. Predictable. Perhaps even a little corny. All questions about how they met, how they came to be together, what they liked about each other… It was all  _ fluff _ . 

Something for housewives to read about to distract themselves in their spare time, between the cooking and the cleaning and waiting for their husbands to come home. 

Angélique simpered about what a breath of fresh air  _ Monsieur Jones _ was, how youthful and charming he was, how happy he made her... 

“And he is quite  _ handsome _ , I’ll admit,” she added with a giggle, earning herself a rouse of knowing chuckles from the men who were interviewing them. 

Alfred grinned at her flattery. Regardless of whether or not her words were genuine, it was always nice to know that such things would be written in the papers. People read the papers. People would believe this. 

As the interview went on ,  Alfred found himself enjoying this little game more than he had expected- All he had to do was improvise on the agreed themes Angélique had jotted down for him. It was all a game, and regardless of how bossy Angélique was… It was a game Alfred was comfortable with. 

So comfortable that he slipped his arm around the little lady, clasping a hand on her little shoulder as he smiled at her. Her muscles tensed up at the sudden contact, almost as though she was about to flinch- her face remained placid, however. A light giggle escaped her lips as she crossed her legs over, playfully nudging Alfred before one of the reporters perked up. 

“Is everything alright, Miss?” 

“Oh? Of course!” she said, vaguely motioning to Alfred’s hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to interrupt- Monsieur Jones is a  _ darling  _ but he doesn’t know his strength. It’s a bit of a problem when he holds me, you see…” she gave another pout and looked back up to the man who had spoken to her, shrugging a little. 

Alfred quirked a brow at that- Was that supposed to be a double-entendre? He let go of her shoulder, placing his hand on her back as he spoke again. 

“I’m sorry ‘bout that, doll. I’ll be careful- I promised I would be!” 

Doll. He called her  _ doll _ . He didn’t even think about it- he just did. He called her  _ doll  _ and while Angélique’s eyes were still as soft and well-meaning as a doe’s… Alfred felt the heel of her shoe jab into his foot. He gasped a little, covering it up with a cough, pretending to clear his throat.  _ What the heck was that for? _

Still, the journalists simply smiled and laughed along, endeared by how  _ sweet  _ the two Nations were to each other.    
Looking at his watch, one of the photographers tapped his colleague on the shoulder, reminding him their schedule. The other man flipped his notebook shut and nodded, quickly rising to his feet as he extended a hand to Alfred. Then, he tipped his hat to Angélique before he spoke to the pair. 

“Mr. America, Miss Monaco, thank you for your time- It’ll be a great article.” 

Alfred laughed at that, standing as well, towering over the reporter as he shook his hand “The pleasure’s ours! And… Really? I’m sure you got more pressing matters to write about- Right?” 

The shorter man looked up to Alfred and blinked a little, wiggling his fingers as they were released from his grasp. He looked back to his colleagues and shrugged a little, a sheepish smile appearing on his face. 

“Mr. America... with all due respect, sometimes it’s  _ nice  _ to write about things that aren’t war, or politics.... People being miserable,” he told him before looked back to Angélique, immediately going for her hand as she held it out for him to kiss. 

Angélique smiled again, watching as the tubby little man took his sweet time thanking her for the interview, holding her hand with clammy fingers as he pressed his lips to her soft skin again, and again, and again.    
When he was done, she quickly returned to Alfred’s side, holding his arm as she tugged him away, offering polite smiles and waves to the gentlemen of the press when Alfred got the cue to guide her back inside. 

“Shall we go to your room?” asked Angélique as they walked together towards one of the elevators. Her voice was still breathy, honeyed and lovely… She seemed a little tired, too. 

Alfred squinted a little, wondering what she was planning with that. He called the elevator and pondered on it, then looked back to Angélique when it arrived and they stepped in. 

“Sure, if you wanna,” he replied as the doors slid shut. He grinned as they stood there. He supposed they  _ did  _ look good together… And while he didn’t understand why anybody would care, he had to admit that he liked having someone holding onto him like that. 

He felt like he was the leading man of one of his favorite movies. Dashing, charismatic… And with a little piece of eye candy hanging off his arm. He could get used to this. 

Wait.  _ Eye candy _ . Did he really just think about calling her  _ eye candy _ ?  _ Golly _ . 

… Then again, was it entirely wrong to say such a thing? Regardless of previously rotten attitude, Alfred had to admit that Angélique was an attractive woman- even more so now that she actually lost the scowls and pouts he remembered her wearing back in April. 

He couldn’t help but comment on that. Grinning at their reflection in the mirror, he tugged her closer and leaned down to her level. 

“I didn’t know you could smile like that,  _ doll _ . You’re much nicer to me than you were last time, too-”

As soon as he spoke, Angélique straightened her posture, her expression souring before she huffed and let go of Alfred’s arm. 

“Don’t get used to it, Monsieur Jones.” she told him firmly, tugging at the neckline of her dress and checking the state of her hair in the mirror. She slipped her hands into her purse, pulling out her glasses before she slipped them on and  glanced back up at the American, holding a hand to her hip. “Was I really  _ that  _ convincing?.” 

Her voice lost all of its airy, saccharine charm as soon as she had spoken again, returning a more mature, ladylike, aristocratic tone-

So  _ there  _ she was, the haughty little  _ madam  _ he had met before… Alfred mentally slapped himself for believing her little act for about a second. His upper lip curled slightly as he cocked his head to the side.  _ Impressive _ . He had to give it to her, she was good at what she did. 

“Again with the ‘Mister Jones’ thing-  _ Y’know _ , you shouldn’t call me that if we’re s’posed to be dating- I told you to call me  _ Alfred _ , Angie.”

“And  _ I _ would appreciate it if you would call me  _ Miss _ . You didn’t even call me by my name during the interview.”

“Yeah, I did!  _ Angie _ !” 

“My  _ name  _ is Angélique.”

“And _ I _ can’t  _ say  _ that.” argued Alfred, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Besides, couples don’t call each other  _ Miss  _ and  _ Sir _ , you know. They use names, and… Nicknames.”

Angélique sighed and clasped her hands together, breathing deeply before she spoke to him again.    
“I thought we had agreed on portraying ourselves as a couple of a respectable social standing. There’s already enough drama about you being too  _ nouveau riche _ for my standards-”

“Too  _ what _ , now?”

“It was all written in the letter,  _ America _ . I thought you read it. We had an agreement- Just call me  _ Miss  _ if you can’t say my name! Not this… this…  _ ‘Angie’ _ .”

Alfred laughed at that.  _ Unbelievable _ . She was being so stuck-up and diligent about the whole thing- So  _ serious _ . He grinned at the thought of this being the most important task she’s ever undertaken as a Nation… Wasn’t she just  _ adorable _ ?

“Fine.  _ Miss  _ Angie.” He flashed a self-satisfied grin as he looked back to their reflection.

The small woman scowled and crossed her arms, rolling her eyes before she condescendingly looked up to Alfred. 

“I was told America was a Nation built on  _ compromise _ . I didn’t know they were referring to  _ this _ .” 

“Uh, because they aren’t,” Alfred quipped immediately, “the compromise thing is  _ actually- _ ” 

“It was sarcasm, Jones.” 

As soon as the elevator doors opened with a ding, Angélique felt a light headache taking over her. She looked out to the corridor outside, making sure it was empty before she’d allow further conversation. Her shoulders relaxed upon realising that they’d be alone and she stepped ahead. Alfred watched as she walked away, rolling his eyes a little before he followed after her.. 

“Hey… There’s no reason for you to be so serious about this, you know?” 

“Is that so?” she sighed, vaguely turning to glance at the younger Nation from over her shoulder. 

“Yeah, that  _ is  _ so. You said it yourself in that fancy letter of yours- Do this for a few months, let people grow bored, and then we can act like nothing ever happened.”

“I know what I wrote. What you fail to understand, Monsieur Jones,” she told him, brows knit together, “is that this isn’t just your public image that is at stake. There’s mine as well. I am a woman of a certain status and I refuse to be seen as anything less.” 

Alfred stared at her for a second, blinking, then snorting  at her pretentiousness. Shaking his head, he walked past her and pulled the keys to his room from his pocket before he jammed them into the door. Hand on the handle, he stopped, straightening his posture and towering over Angélique with a grin.

“Open the door, Jones.” 

“What happened to  _ Mister  _ Jones?” he teased though he complied, letting Angélique into his hotel room. 

She walked in and huffed, fumbling with her purse and pulling out a packet of cigarettes. 

Alfred watched as she put her little purse on the table and lit herself a smoke, bringing it to her red lips before she inhaled and felt her shoulders relax. She seemed so relieved, as though she could finally relax. 

“ _ Mon Dieu _ …” she sighed, letting her smoke out of her lungs. 

Alfred raised his brows at that, clearly amused by the whole ordeal… Then again, when was he ever  _ not  _ amused? 

“I gotta say, though- I’m seeing two  _ entirely  _ different women, here.” 

Angélique didn’t reply, she just glanced over at Alfred as he shrugged off his blazer and sat on the bed, crossing an ankle over his knee to start taking his shoes off. He looked back up to her, watching as she looked away from him, clearly more interested in the sight of the Mediterranean breeze in the palm trees that lined the shore. He had a lovely view from his balcony, didn’t he?  _ Lucky bastard _ . 

She just smoked for a little while, burning through half of her cigarette quicker than what Alfred had ever witnessed before. Odd. Not odd enough for him to comment on it, however. 

He just grinned and shrugged at that, pulling his shoe off before he spoke again. 

“... But I gotta admit, the cutesy lil’ sweetheart act you do for the cameras is nice,” he told her with a chuckle. “I like it. You could always try to be like that when you’re  _ you _ , y’know?” 

Once again, Angélique didn’t reply. She took in a deep breath before she put on a smile and turned back to Alfred, finding the room’s ashtray before she crushed her cigarette in it, letting the embers die out before she went back to look at herself in the mirror. She got a hold of her purse again and found her lipstick, re-applying it one last time before she pushed up her glasses and approached Alfred once more. 

“You  _ would  _ like it if I were just a silly little blonde, wouldn’t you?” 

Alfred glanced up at her and had a rather comically bemused grin on his face, shaking his head though his eyes couldn’t betray that he was tempted to say  _ yes _ .

“I don’t usually have the time for girls, Miss Monaco. I’m a busy guy!” he exclaimed, stretching out before he leaned on his hands, looking up to her again. “I have an economy to raise and communism to fight. Girls ain’t really my priority. But I’m just sayin’... If you  _ really  _ insist on dragging me down this rabbit hole, you should make it worth my while.”

“Why should I?” she asked, hands on her hips as she looked him over condescendingly. 

“Uh. Cause you owe me. I’m taking time outta my schedule to play lover boy for a country that doesn’t even show up on a map.”

Angélique smiled tensely at that. Oh, what she’d do to have her hands around his neck- That preposterous, self-centered,  _ stupid  _ American piece of- 

“I’ll have you  _ know _ , Monsieur Jones, that whether my country appears on international maps or not, Monaco has been at the center of attention for the past few months-”

“Yeah- Thanks to  _ American  _ journalists. And an  _ American  _ actress marrying your Prince,” Alfred laughed, winking up at her before he looked her over and relaxed his shoulders. “You can thank me later.” 

And, in the way the leading man of a Hollywood production would attempt to soften the cruel, frigid little  _ femme fatale _ he was up against, Alfred dared to reach out to get a hold the fabrics of that pretty powder blue dress Angélique wore. 

Women liked that, didn’t they? 

The Monégasque stared at him for just a moment, watching his pathetic attempt at pseudo-seduction with contempt. _ Foolish boy _ , trying such trite tactics in hopes of getting a cop and feel at… Something. 

Angélique raised her brows at him. He was a stupid, boyish American who believed he could get away with just about anything, she was sure of this… but at the end of the day, he was just a boy. One who was so full of himself he’d believe he was entitled to the whatever he demanded. 

Money, power, the sight of her underskirts-

Her dignity as a capable, intelligent woman. 

And if  _ Monsieur  _ demanded something he was clearly owed, who was she to deny him?   
Softening her gaze, she leaned closer, a hand going to stroke his cheek as she fluttered her lashes at him. 

“You don’t have time for girls, you say…” She hummed, delicate fingers now brushing through his hair. 

Alfred stared up at her for a second, looking her over as she dared to touch him. This was… unexpected, to say the least.    
Alfred didn't know she’d actually comply- there usually was a bit of a chase before the leading man would get the girl. It wasn't this easy in the movies- Thus, caught off guard, he felt his cheeks heat up as he watched her; the way she stepped closer, the way she leaned down, allowing him to catch a glimpse at the promise of the swell of her chest- He swallowed hard when she sat in his lap, staring in complete awe. 

He never actually had a woman act in such a manner towards him. With her hand on his chest, the other one tracing his jawline with manicured fingers… 

“Monsieur Jones?” She breathed, looking up to him. “What’s the matter? You seem troubled.” 

“I, uh…” He blinked, his hand lost in the fabrics of her dress as she made herself comfortable. “I ain’t troubled. This is just, uh, mighty forward of you, Miss.” 

“I thought you wanted me to make this worth your while.”

“I… Yeah! I do!” He leaned into her touch, looking up to her with wide, bright blue eyes, a flush taking over his face from the apples of his cheeks to the tips of his ears- 

Angélique leaned closer, lips ghosting over his skin. She stayed there for a moment, her hand gripping his collar as she shifted in his lap, pressed against him to the point where he could only feel up the sweet, sweet promise of her womanly curves- She ran a finger down his neck, nails scraping over his Adam’s apple...

Then, she got off his lap, a dull expression on her pretty face as she pushed up her glasses. 

“I will see you whenever our next photoshoot is due,” she told him as she stepped away from his touch, taking her purse and making her way towards the door. 

Alfred could only stare, once again, blinking and cocking his head to the side like a confused pup. She was sitting in his lap just a second ago- where was she going? What was she-

“Wait a sec- Hey!” 

Little heeled shoes clicked on their way to the door, stopping for a moment as Angélique put her hand on the handle and pushed it down, turning back to glance at Alfred once more.

“Have a  _ pleasant _ afternoon, Monsieur Jones- I’m  _ sure  _ today’s interview will lead to a stunning article.”

Before he could reply, Angélique was out the door. 

As soon as she left, she gasped, caught her breath, and wiped the sweat from her brow. This was fine. This was  _ fine _ . It was all a part of the plan, wasn’t it? Her work was done. 

It was another gamble, and she seemed to have won this round. With a sigh, she leaned against the wall and thought everything over in silence, still alert, just in case that stupid boy chased after her. Breathing deeply, she realised he didn’t. Sighing in relief, Angélique grinned to herself and pushed up her glasses once again.  _ Satisfied _ . 

She was satisfied. 

Straightening her posture, she walked down the corridor all in poise and grace, leaving the room and the flustered boy within it behind her. 

She believed she could indulge in her own vices, tonight. An evening at the casino would surely soothe her nerves…

She deserved it, didn’t she? 


	4. Chapter 3 • Count your cards and play them well

After that interview came another. And another.

And another. 

And photoshoots. And public appearances- Invitations to formal events, social gatherings, charity fundraisers, all kinds of things where Alfred was invited and highly expected to bring along that  _ delightful  _ little lady he was involved with. 

Little Miss Monaco was just  _ lovely _ , wasn’t she? Such a darling! One would be a fool to not adore her! She was such an elegant, refined little thing, and the image of herself she projected to those who watched was simply endearing- She was lovely and  _ foreign _ , but not  _ too  _ foreign, just enough for the Americans who encountered her to enjoy her charming little European quirks, witness her confusion and curiosity, and smile whenever she spoke with that elusively romantic accent, her voice honeyed, breathy, and endearingly sweet. 

All she had to do was let the world intrude on her relationship with America. Let them watch as he held her close, as he wrapped an arm around her waist, as he picked her up and spun her around, as he held her hand, as she cuddled up to him… 

As she kissed him. 

It was a fantasy they were selling to the public eye, and they were selling it  _ well _ . 

While Alfred thought the public would be all be over it in a handful of months, their clear interest remained. They only came back and asked for  _ more _ . 

He and Angie could keep it up for another while… Right? Alfred didn’t mind, really. It wasn’t as inconvenient as he had expected, and he couldn’t help but feel a little excited himself when he saw how invested in their relationship the people were. Besides… Angélique seemed to be warming up to him. He still remembered the way she had caught him off guard after their very first interview- The way she sat in his lap and had almost,  _ almost  _ kissed him… Away from the cameras. It ought to have meant  _ something  _ if she did that  _ away from the cameras _ .

Alfred was confused, if anything, but it was a sweet, curious kind of confusion that often left him wondering- Between the saccharine, infatuated little dolly, and the poised, elegant dame, Alfred could only watch as he longed to blur the lines, to have the best of both Angéliques. He was almost as drawn to her as his people were, with a gentle kind of fascination.

Even if they only met for public appearances, he wondered if he’d dare ask for more...

The little lady slipped between her public persona and the woman she truly was almost seamlessly, catching Alfred off guard the moment they retreated from the public eye. She was lovely one second and stern the next. 

It was all an act, of course.  _ Of course _ . 

The Press and the public just gobbled it up. That wasn’t her fault. It was a mere consequence- one she was all too ready to accept.

It was all worth it.

It had been a month since they were last seen together. Since their last public appearance as a couple. The Press had had the time to go hog wild with the materials they already had in stock. All those photos, those recordings, testimonies from people who had simply brushed shoulders with the couple of Nations- 

It clearly was enough to get people talking. 

In the time they spent away from each other, wherein America had business to tend to,  _ official business _ , more photos came out. More articles were written, no matter how succinct or elaborate they were, and Angélique made a point to read each and every one of them. 

Miss Monaco took care of the logistics behind the finely-woven farce that was the  _ other  _ Romance of the Century. She insisted on it.    
She usually did so in the veranda of the Princely Palace, surrounded with magazines and newspapers from various countries, any paper that spoke of her and Alfred’s relationship was bound to end up between her hands. 

It was there, sitting pretty in the cream-coloured garden chair, sitting among miniature lemon trees, carnations and hydrangeas, that she tended to the deep,  _ profound  _ studies of the manner in which the Press portrayed her performance as Mister America’s trophy wife.    
With her glasses propped upon her little nose, a cigarette daintily dangling from between her fingers, and a cup of tea waiting at her side, Angélique read, and read, and  _ read  _ everything the Palace’s newsroom had dug up for her to control and scrutinize. 

She found gossip and speculations, factual recollections of their public appearances, opinion pieces, photos, more photos, and even more photos, once again. 

They were a  _ gorgeous  _ couple- As foolish a boy America was, Miss Monaco had to admit that they looked good together. Their contrast was flattering, if anything, and even if she was mocked for her ridiculous height… Nobody dared to deny the fact that she was a stunning woman. 

And while she glowed, basked in the attention and drank in the spotlight like it were freshwater... she started wondering if she was willing to put up with the younger Nation’s foolishness any more than what was absolutely necessary. With the face that she put up for the sake of the believability of their romance…

Regardless of her own thoughts, she returned to her studies. 

_ ‘Mr. America’s little sweetheart!’ _ read one of the headlines, making Angélique wince at how corny Americans were when giving titles to their articles- that one wasn’t even the worst. 

_ ‘Soon to be wed? Will the Nation of Monaco have the honor of becoming Mrs. Jones?’ _ was another that irritated her. As though marrying that  _ buffoon  _ was an  _ honor _ . Nations didn’t marry the way humans did, and no matter how many times she explained to those stupid,  _ stupid  _ reporters that National marriages were only possible in the case of official, political alliances rather than based on romance itself… It was useless. 

Ah, well. They had a fairytale to sell, didn’t they? 

Bringing her cigarette to her lips, she grabbed other magazines, opting for non-American publications in hopes of relieving herself of her budding headache.    
French magazines still painted her as the elegant woman she had always been… Though they expressed curiosity over her general attitude.  _ ‘Is this what American influence does to Nations? _ ’ they’d ask, and then go into detail about the manner in which she spoke English, the girlish way in which she talked about her relationship with her American  _ beau _ …   
Italian papers seemed to exaggerate many aspects of their relationship, going as far as to include speculative elements that had never been brought up in the first place-    
There were other publications, too. From Britain, from Belgium, from Canada, and…. Japan?

Squinting at the Japanese newspaper, Angélique couldn’t help but wonder  _ how far _ this whole affair was going. She had only been sent an article or two, and she couldn’t read a single  _ word  _ of any of them… But the photos were nice, she supposed. She wondered if she’d ever find a translation. She couldn’t just ask Mr. Honda to take the time out of his schedule to indulge her curiosity.

In any case, she put that one down. She had work to do. 

With a pen, Angélique annotated each and every article she read, keeping a notebook aside to jot down important elements she could pick up on- What people liked, what people talked about, what they expected of their relationship… And the criticisms that came with it. 

It was all a hassle. It was tiring, and at the end of the day, she wondered if it was all worth it. 

She wondered if this whole affair was worth the efforts she put into it. Even  _ she  _ couldn’t believe the lengths she went to make sure that all this affair was as believable and successful as it currently was. 

She wondered if she was truly willing to keep playing this game with Alfred.

Glancing over at the magazines once again, she sighed out her cigarette’s smoke, she thought about it. Monaco had come into the public eye once again, for the firsts time since the turn of the century… All because Prince Rainier married an American girl. 

All because Monaco, herself, played at being Mr. America’s trophy wife. 

He was a fool of wealth and power… but he was also a willing participant. An eager participant, she even assumed. With the way he looked at her, the way he held her- It was all pretend, of course, but Angélique had an eye for this kind of things. She remembered how he acted when she teased him back in Cannes, how flustered he was when she sat in his lap, how his hands twitched, how he caught his breath-

He was only a man, after all. 

Men were all the same, weren’t they? Angélique shook her head and grinned weakly. It just couldn’t be helped. In any case, she refused to chase after him, now. She was the one who had organised their public schedule for the past few months- 

She was tired. She had other things to take care of. Things that only affected her country and its handful of citizens. Important things.  

Her  _ actual  _ duties as the Nation of the Principality of Monaco. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have a chapter from Monaco's point of view o/ 
> 
> This is all I have ready in time for the event, if you have read this far, thank you! ♥ I apologise for the wonky pacing and spotty characterisation... Here's hoping this is mainly me putting myself down because I've overworked these past chapters... But, hey, if it doesn't show, I'm more than happy others will enjoy it ovo!! ♥
> 
> More chapters will come later, and I'll probably come up with drabbles and one-shots relating to events that happened between Chapter 2 and 3!   
> Stay tuned! ♥


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